[ McCree pls. It takes him a while to arrive because he has to go grab a giant bottle of water that he is definitely going to make McCree drink. He's fully armored when he shows up, hood pulled down over his helmet.]
Does this place open so early specifically for you?
[ by that point, the previous day (and night's) events were catching up with him. the cowboy is flopped over against the bar, his hat on the counter next to him. the serape is bundled into a half-assed attempt at a pillow, the side of his face resting against his forearm.
he'd built himself a small army of empty glasses, the nearest still almost full of something that is most definitely not water. ]
Got connections.
[ okay, so maybe he's a little worse for wear. he had to fill the time somehow. ]
[ It.. it's 9 am Jesse. This is a little pathetic.]
Connections.
[He sits down next to him, sliding the glasses away from Jesse and plonking down the giant bottle of water.]
You are probably making this places' fortune. Here. Drink.
[ And because he expects that Jesse is just going to groan and complain he grabs his hand and puts it next to the water in case he's forgotten how to grip bottles that aren't whiskey glasses.]
[ the scrape of the heavy bottomed glass against the counter surface at least made him stir, just enough to look bleary eyed at it. he wasn't quite sure when he'd gotten a hold on the water -- or how he managed to even do that -- but he's not in any rush to actually lift it.
[ jesse had never been one for expensive taste -- that had always been ashe's department. he made ends meet since leaving overwatch, but he had pretty simple tastes. a roof over his head, a bottle of rye, and a sandwich? he was set.
but this was an apology, and the usual roach traps weren't exactly the message he was going for. so, he scraped up what he'd made on his last job, and got them something decent. it wasn't the ritz, but it was better than anything they'd stayed in previously. he could honestly the cowboy hat didn't quite fit the dress code, though.
hanging it up along with his serape, he cast a glance over at genji, who'd wasted no time making himself comfortable. ]
[Sheltered and rich, sleeping in a dingy motel full of roaches had been something of an exciting endeavor the first few times Genji had to do it. But it had quickly lost its appeal when it became routine.
At this point he just wants a bed that won't fall apart while he's sleeping on it, and a shower that isn't entirely mold. That doesn't seem like too much to ask. ]
It is growing on me.
[He rolls over onto his stomach, kicking his feet up as he flips the menu over.]
[ he flashed him a lop-sided smile, bracing himself against the wall as he kicked off his boots. they landed heavily, spurs jingling as they dropped on the floor, and he kicked one out of the way as he headed over to sit on the edge of the bed.
maybe a little luxury wasn't such a bad thing -- a mattress that wasn't going to fall apart under their shared weight was a definite perk. ]
Hold up. You're tellin' me you've never had key lime? Not my favorite, but still... Gonna need one of those, and apple, if they've got it.
Should I have? Does it taste like limes? Why are there keys?
[As soon as McCree sits down Genji rolls a little towards him from the weight on the bed. But he catches himself before ending up in his lap. It won't be that easy.]
It's a type of lime. I just figured with your sweet tooth, you'd have tried all of'em by now.
[ he wasn't much of a baker, but he knew pies almost as well as he knew classic western films.
the shift in weight was enough to draw his gaze, the corner of his lip twitching. he knew genji well enough to recognize the game he was playing -- never one to make things easy, and be damned if jesse didn't love that about him.
two could play at that. with an exaggerated stretch of his arms, he sank back on the mattress, eyes slipping closed as he did. ]
[His shoulder is busted and sparking everywhere and his whole arm barely moves, but he's still gonna climb in through a window because that's just what he does.]
Yo! Boba is probably still cold.
[Cuz that's the priority. He reaches in his bag pulling out a reddish one and offering it to McCree.]
[ jesus. he's not much of a mechanic, but he's got some basic knowledge just from caring for his own prosthetic. it wasn't going to be pretty, but he figured he could do a temporary patch job; at least until genji could make it in to see angie.
... he could already imagine the follow up call he was going to get after that.
still, it didn't stop him from taking the drink. he swirled its contents absently, giving the other another concerned look over. ]
[He gestures to his arm which is making a very unhealthy buzzing noise. He stabs his own drink with a straw happily unconcerned with his busted appendage.]
I am not drunk either.
[But when he pulls his visor off to have his drink it's clear that wasn't the only fight he's gotten in lately. Someone may have gotten completely shitfaced and started some shit while not wearing his helmet and now has one hell of a black eye.]
Care to tell the doc that, before she rips me a new one?
[ he'd been around both of them long enough to know that it wouldn't make much of a difference; those sparks might as well have been blood, from the mess of that joint. it wouldn't have been a pleasant feeling, and much like a flesh wound, it wasn't an overnight sort of fix.
though, from the look of that shiner, it probably wasn't the only thing that needed fixing.
he was in no hurry to start on his own drink, straw resting against the lid, not yet stabbed through. ]
Looks like tonight wasn't the only party I've missed. You wanna tell me what's goin' on?
[It doesn't feel great, but he's going to ignore that for as long as he can. It's not like his arm will heal on its own like the rest of him would, so he's going to have to suck it up and go get it looked at eventually.]
I got in a fight.
[Obviously. He sucks on the straw for a bit, rocking back on his heels.]
I was very drunk and I think it was about saying omnics would be better off crushed and turned into lawnmowers. Something like that. He didn't know how to defend himself and hit me with a chair.
Middle of the night and all was silent in Overwatch HQ. Sure there was the soft hum of machinery, occasionally the footsteps of Dr. Ziegler heading for the coffee machine at a regular cadence. She'd probably last slept sometime in the previous decade.
But in the hangar bay it was nice and quiet. Perfect for Genji who sat with his back against the wall in a dark corner, the circular light in his chest as dim as he could make it to try and fade into the background. He had a ratty jacket on, hood pulled up over his hair as if that would somehow conceal him even more.
There's a soft tinging sound and an even softer curse as he drops whatever it is he had in his hands.
Jack's used to running into Angela a couple hours before dawn. They're the worst sleepers in Overwatch. Sometimes Jack forces himself to stay in bed, as if he can discipline himself into making it take. Counting legions of sheep.
When that doesn't work, he walks. Brisk and determined in spite of the fact he has nowhere to be. So if anyone runs into him, he looks busy. The trick is to keep a file folder tucked under one arm at all times.
Nothing to see here. Just Commander Jack Morrison displaying his excellent work ethic. Everything is under control. Move along.
Even if the pills sitting on his bed-side table say otherwise.
Sometimes he does laps around the hangar. Sometimes he opens the door, and screams obscenities into the howling wind. The one place no one will hear him. Minus the sound-proofed cells beneath the complex. Those, however, are too well monitored.
"Genji?" He's not used to running into Blackwatch's newest recruit. The younger Shimada. Machine in body, man at heart.
"What are you doing here? Is there a deployment I'm not aware of?" As he cuts around the edge of a large back, trying to (not so subtly) see what the hell the kid is doing on the cement floor.
Hopefully not jerking it. That would be... more than awkward.
Ninja should never be snuck up on. Unfortunately Genji is a little distracted right now, and not for any of the reasons Morrison might be thinking.
Instead he startles, bounding to his feet (fully armored still, thank you) as shurikens dispense from his arm at the ready... except they clatter to the ground with a high pitched tinging noise that seems to echo in the cavernous space of the hanger. He curses again, staring down at them as they vibrate on the floor. Eventually red eyes drag up to Morrison's face and he realizes he probably should have thought up an excuse for what he's doing there other than the obvious.
"I am not on a mission. I have returned from one." Whatever he's holding is now behind his back as he holds his arms behind him, trying to pretend to be at attention and nonchalant. He just hangs out in shadowy corners all the time for fun. It's a ninja thing.
He's never been very convincing when trying to talk his way out of dumb things he's done so he doesn't even try now. From what he knows of Morrison he has a hunch it won't work on him anyway.
A brow raise at the shuriken. He leans down and picks one up, curious. He's never seen one up close before. Blackwatch is Gabe's arena. Jack only dots the i's and crosses the t's on the Un reports and cheque-books. Fingertip pushing experimentally on one sharp edge.
Jack follows their work digitally, of course, but has yet to see the ninja in action face to face. Something he'd like to remedy if he could scrape up the time. A commander should stand side by side with his men, not read about their exploits from the safety of a tablet.
"You returned from the mission six hours ago. I read the debrief."
His eyes flick back up to Genji's face. Glad he can see his eyes. The mask gives nothing away.
"What's behind your back?" Always to the point. He minces enough words during meetings with politicians and diplomats. Jack tries not to bullshit his own people whenever possible.
His initial response is in Japanese and wouldn't be convincing even if Morrison understood. It's a reflex to instinctively deny he did anything even with all evidence to the contrary.
Has it really been six hours? He hasn't made much progress since then if that's the case. But that does explain why he feels like utter shit, probably should have had something to eat and drink at some point after getting back. But he'd been too focused on trying to fix this issue before anyone noticed. Before he had to admit he failed at something, that he was fallible even as a robot.
Very slowly and with small jerky motions he brings his hands forward, as if his arms are attached to marionette strings and he's trying to move them with just the sheer force of his mind and not the muscles and cybernetics that power them.
Both hands come forward, but only one is still attached. In his flesh and blood hand he's holding the fingers from the other, wires and sharp bits of metal poking out of what's left of the palm of his cybernetic hand.
"I was fixing this." For the past six hours apparently.
Jack thought the kid might be drinking. Wouldn't be the first time he caught an agent hiding in the hangar with a bottle. Or porn, maybe. The barracks aren't perfectly private, and some people are more shy than others.
He's regretting taking an evening stroll already.
"You know, it isn't necessarily my busine--" Then Genji hands over his... hand? Jack can't hide the horror on his face, jumping back a foot. He's seen a lot of shit in his time, and while this is nowhere near the worst of it, the shock factor has to count for something.
"Genji! What the hell? Why are you fixing this on your own? Has Dr. Ziegler seen this? Jesus christ..." He reaches out, to tentatively give one of the fritzed mechanical fingers a poke. Brow fretted so hard he just gave himself a new set of wrinkles.
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For Cowboys
Very well. Send me your location.
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Does this place open so early specifically for you?
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he'd built himself a small army of empty glasses, the nearest still almost full of something that is most definitely not water. ]
Got connections.
[ okay, so maybe he's a little worse for wear. he had to fill the time somehow. ]
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Connections.
[He sits down next to him, sliding the glasses away from Jesse and plonking down the giant bottle of water.]
You are probably making this places' fortune. Here. Drink.
[ And because he expects that Jesse is just going to groan and complain he grabs his hand and puts it next to the water in case he's forgotten how to grip bottles that aren't whiskey glasses.]
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that doesn't feel like alcohol, genji. ]
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Unfortunately Genji is pretty sure he can't pick McCree up. And he's not mad enough to drag him away by his ankles. Yet.]
Water. Drink up and then I will help you back to whatever filthy place you are staying at.
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For Cowboys
[Genji hasn't been in even remotely nice lodgings in years, so the non stained couch and bed with tiny sitting room is a huge upgrade.
Hopefully Jesse doesn't actually ignite upon entry because Genji is making himself comfy on the bed and perusing that dessert menu.
He's not wearing his helmet, but he still has all his armor on plus his bullet ridden hoodie. Gonna make Jesse work for that apology.
And subsequent ride.]
<3
but this was an apology, and the usual roach traps weren't exactly the message he was going for. so, he scraped up what he'd made on his last job, and got them something decent. it wasn't the ritz, but it was better than anything they'd stayed in previously. he could honestly the cowboy hat didn't quite fit the dress code, though.
hanging it up along with his serape, he cast a glance over at genji, who'd wasted no time making himself comfortable. ]
So. This meet with your approval, darlin'?
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At this point he just wants a bed that won't fall apart while he's sleeping on it, and a shower that isn't entirely mold. That doesn't seem like too much to ask. ]
It is growing on me.
[He rolls over onto his stomach, kicking his feet up as he flips the menu over.]
What is key lime pie?
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maybe a little luxury wasn't such a bad thing -- a mattress that wasn't going to fall apart under their shared weight was a definite perk. ]
Hold up. You're tellin' me you've never had key lime? Not my favorite, but still... Gonna need one of those, and apple, if they've got it.
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[As soon as McCree sits down Genji rolls a little towards him from the weight on the bed. But he catches himself before ending up in his lap. It won't be that easy.]
Yes. Apple pie a la mode.
A la mode?
[Why are the desserts here hard?]
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[ he wasn't much of a baker, but he knew pies almost as well as he knew classic western films.
the shift in weight was enough to draw his gaze, the corner of his lip twitching. he knew genji well enough to recognize the game he was playing -- never one to make things easy, and be damned if jesse didn't love that about him.
two could play at that. with an exaggerated stretch of his arms, he sank back on the mattress, eyes slipping closed as he did. ]
Wouldn't mind havin' you a la mode.
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[He should have put his helmet back on so Jesse couldn't watch his eyes drag over his stretched out form. Fighting dirty.]
If that is meant to be an innuendo I don't know what it means so it's not working.
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Well that Icon is perfect
For Cowboys
On my way.
[His shoulder is busted and sparking everywhere and his whole arm barely moves, but he's still gonna climb in through a window because that's just what he does.]
Yo! Boba is probably still cold.
[Cuz that's the priority. He reaches in his bag pulling out a reddish one and offering it to McCree.]
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... he could already imagine the follow up call he was going to get after that.
still, it didn't stop him from taking the drink. he swirled its contents absently, giving the other another concerned look over. ]
This how I usually look when you pick me up?
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See? No bleeding. Much better.
[He gestures to his arm which is making a very unhealthy buzzing noise. He stabs his own drink with a straw happily unconcerned with his busted appendage.]
I am not drunk either.
[But when he pulls his visor off to have his drink it's clear that wasn't the only fight he's gotten in lately. Someone may have gotten completely shitfaced and started some shit while not wearing his helmet and now has one hell of a black eye.]
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[ he'd been around both of them long enough to know that it wouldn't make much of a difference; those sparks might as well have been blood, from the mess of that joint. it wouldn't have been a pleasant feeling, and much like a flesh wound, it wasn't an overnight sort of fix.
though, from the look of that shiner, it probably wasn't the only thing that needed fixing.
he was in no hurry to start on his own drink, straw resting against the lid, not yet stabbed through. ]
Looks like tonight wasn't the only party I've missed. You wanna tell me what's goin' on?
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I got in a fight.
[Obviously. He sucks on the straw for a bit, rocking back on his heels.]
I was very drunk and I think it was about saying omnics would be better off crushed and turned into lawnmowers. Something like that. He didn't know how to defend himself and hit me with a chair.
For Dadjoke
But in the hangar bay it was nice and quiet. Perfect for Genji who sat with his back against the wall in a dark corner, the circular light in his chest as dim as he could make it to try and fade into the background. He had a ratty jacket on, hood pulled up over his hair as if that would somehow conceal him even more.
There's a soft tinging sound and an even softer curse as he drops whatever it is he had in his hands.
Re: For Dadjoke
When that doesn't work, he walks. Brisk and determined in spite of the fact he has nowhere to be. So if anyone runs into him, he looks busy. The trick is to keep a file folder tucked under one arm at all times.
Nothing to see here. Just Commander Jack Morrison displaying his excellent work ethic. Everything is under control. Move along.
Even if the pills sitting on his bed-side table say otherwise.
Sometimes he does laps around the hangar. Sometimes he opens the door, and screams obscenities into the howling wind. The one place no one will hear him. Minus the sound-proofed cells beneath the complex. Those, however, are too well monitored.
"Genji?" He's not used to running into Blackwatch's newest recruit. The younger Shimada. Machine in body, man at heart.
"What are you doing here? Is there a deployment I'm not aware of?" As he cuts around the edge of a large back, trying to (not so subtly) see what the hell the kid is doing on the cement floor.
Hopefully not jerking it. That would be... more than awkward.
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Instead he startles, bounding to his feet (fully armored still, thank you) as shurikens dispense from his arm at the ready... except they clatter to the ground with a high pitched tinging noise that seems to echo in the cavernous space of the hanger. He curses again, staring down at them as they vibrate on the floor. Eventually red eyes drag up to Morrison's face and he realizes he probably should have thought up an excuse for what he's doing there other than the obvious.
"I am not on a mission. I have returned from one." Whatever he's holding is now behind his back as he holds his arms behind him, trying to pretend to be at attention and nonchalant. He just hangs out in shadowy corners all the time for fun. It's a ninja thing.
He's never been very convincing when trying to talk his way out of dumb things he's done so he doesn't even try now. From what he knows of Morrison he has a hunch it won't work on him anyway.
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Jack follows their work digitally, of course, but has yet to see the ninja in action face to face. Something he'd like to remedy if he could scrape up the time. A commander should stand side by side with his men, not read about their exploits from the safety of a tablet.
"You returned from the mission six hours ago. I read the debrief."
His eyes flick back up to Genji's face. Glad he can see his eyes. The mask gives nothing away.
"What's behind your back?" Always to the point. He minces enough words during meetings with politicians and diplomats. Jack tries not to bullshit his own people whenever possible.
"Contraband?" The barest hint of a smirk.
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Has it really been six hours? He hasn't made much progress since then if that's the case. But that does explain why he feels like utter shit, probably should have had something to eat and drink at some point after getting back. But he'd been too focused on trying to fix this issue before anyone noticed. Before he had to admit he failed at something, that he was fallible even as a robot.
Very slowly and with small jerky motions he brings his hands forward, as if his arms are attached to marionette strings and he's trying to move them with just the sheer force of his mind and not the muscles and cybernetics that power them.
Both hands come forward, but only one is still attached. In his flesh and blood hand he's holding the fingers from the other, wires and sharp bits of metal poking out of what's left of the palm of his cybernetic hand.
"I was fixing this." For the past six hours apparently.
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He's regretting taking an evening stroll already.
"You know, it isn't necessarily my busine--" Then Genji hands over his... hand? Jack can't hide the horror on his face, jumping back a foot. He's seen a lot of shit in his time, and while this is nowhere near the worst of it, the shock factor has to count for something.
"Genji! What the hell? Why are you fixing this on your own? Has Dr. Ziegler seen this? Jesus christ..." He reaches out, to tentatively give one of the fritzed mechanical fingers a poke. Brow fretted so hard he just gave himself a new set of wrinkles.
"Doesn't that hurt?"
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